A Small Light in Darkness
by SecretBeauty-NM-LM
Summary: When a street waif named Gwendolyn shows up at the Opera Populaire and finds herself face to face with the Phantom...Can she reawaken feeling within the darkness that is his heart?
1. Chapter 1

1. ----Running through the alleyways of Paris was like running through a labyrinth. A cold, seemingly

endless labyrinth. Steam came up from the sewer covers, providing some cloaking, but the sound

of footfalls on damp, puddle covered pavement was like blazing arrow, pointing at a target. The

target happened to be a frightened girl of no more than twenty, running to keep her freedom and

struggling to hold onto the baguette that would be her supper; if she got to eat it. "Arête! Stop!

Thief!" the constable shouted, not too far behind.

The cold air of a just beginning spring bit at her throat and lungs as she inhaled. Running into a main circle and weaving

through the traffic of people, horses and the newly founded automobile, she was somewhat safe. But if she wanted to

be completely out of danger, she would have to find someplace safe, and fast! Looking every which way, she switched

directions to the newly burnt and condemned Opera Populaire.

Lunging through a boarded door like a tiger through a hoop, she rolled and landed in the grand foyer of the

great opera house. Forgetting all that was behind her, she stood up to take in the sight before her.

It was dim, and the elements did have some effect on it. Discolored lines swirled around the

entrances from where water seeped in and went stagnant. There was a haze from the humidity and

the curtains that still hung gave it a mildew-y smell all around. The gold painted sculptures that sat

mounted at the ends of the marble railing were still somewhat intact, but badly marred from the

flames that once engulfed the whole theatre. A few gas light fixtures were still whole, but most

were shattered. The girl sneezed. The place was quite dusty as well.

Taking measured steps, her footsteps echoed around the lobby and down the halls. "Sacre' Bleu," she whispered,

looking all around her still. It had only been three years since the fire, yet she felt that she knew everything to

date about the theatre; yet she knew she didn't. Somehow she didn't expect it to be any different,

even though she knew it would be.

"She went in here!" she heard the constable shout through the slats in the boards. They wouldn't be able to squeeze the

way she did though the boards, due to they have been well fed, where she was reduced to little more than a sliver. She

took her time walking up the marble steps, remembering taking the same steps when she came there the last

time with her mother. The memory of her mother made her stop and look at the spots just next to

where she was standing. The same spots where her mother once walked three years ago, but so

much longer than that. Infections spread fast and when you're nothing more than a mistress, you're

abandoned on the spot. Especially when you're desperate and your master knows it.

She had been in that room with her mother when Raoul Chagney walked out on her to be with his Christine.

The very same Christine that was responsible for the fire. Though she knew it was the Phantom

that was really the one responsible, she had such a hatred for Christine that she was in the way of

her mother's happiness that that over shadowed everything. She hated Raoul just as much, for

abandoning her mother like someone would a sick dog when her mother was in need.

Keeping in mind that she was soon to be followed again, she walked the rest of the way into a hall that would

lead her to the theatre seating.

----Some of the fine red fabric of the seats were torn no doubt by rats and mice. She reached out

and trailed a hand over the gold gilded frames of the seat backs, taking in the detailed engravings.

The carpet was ripped in places, revealing the wooden boards beneath. She gave a small squeal

when she tripped over a piece of it, and stopped to listen when she heard what sounded like

someone abruptly stopping in the middle of their doings. She was about to call out when the

crashing of the boards and the shouts of the constables stopped her short and she ducked into

the many rows of the seats.

"Yes Monsieur Andre'."

She peaked her head just above the seat she hid behind. "Someone has broken into your theatre." By God, she thought.

Monsieur Andre'! She had thought he had been killed in the fire! She remembered reading in the papers that he was no

where to be found; him and Monsieur Fiermin. She must have missed the later publishing's. She

raised up a bit more and noticed that he was in a wheelchair. He was missing a leg. Badly burnt if

not removed by a falling beam. She also noticed that she was noticed.

"Monsieur!" One pointed.

Her eyes went wide and she ducked back, crawling like a snake through the rows, weaving around

and through seats until she reached the front of the stage. A constable was racing along towards

the front rows and she knew it was now or never. Pushing herself up, she raced onto the stage and

slid down into the conductor's pit at the front. Narrowly missing the attempted snatch of the man's

hand, she slunk into complete darkness. She felt her way around, careful not to knock anything

over, yet in a hurry to find the exit to backstage. Only her heavy frantic breathing kept her company,

she felt her hand touch something warm…and breathing.

Thinking it was one of the men, she quickly withdrew and tried to run. A hand grabbed her arm. She started to protest

when another hand pressed against her mouth, silencing her.

"I wouldn't run that way if I were you," the voice was deep husky; soothing yet un-nerving but welcomingly masculine.

"There's a collection of symbols there," he said, removing his hand from her mouth, but not releasing her encase she

would still try to run and give them both away.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"No one of consequence," came his reply. "Follow me," he took her by the arm and guided her through the darkness.

"How can you see anything?" she brushed off what she knew must have been a spider web. "I see light where

others see dark. Hence why I am down here."

With the sound of a turning door handle, they were in the dressing room backstage. She stared in amazement at the

sight around her. This is where La Calotte' used to get ready, she though with amazement, forgetting her hand was

stilled had by a man she had yet to identify. Taking a few more moments to look around, she realized that all the

mirrors were broken. "Why are all the mirrors broken?" she inquired, not looking at him yet.

"Because I hate them," she could hear a deep anger within his voice. "Why would anyone hate—"

she stopped. Right before her very own eyes stood the infamous…Phantom of the Opera.


	2. Chapter 2

2. ----"You're the," her mouth hung open at the sight. "Phantom of the Opera? Yes, at your service,"

he finished with a bow. "Now _your_ service is to leave," he turned away from her.

"People said—"

"Yes, I know what people said, and say. 'The Phantom is a monster! He's hideous!' Well now

according to them I am dead. A dead monster," his voice was bitter.

"No," she corrected. The sincerity of what she said stopped him.

"What?" he faced her with skepticism.

"You look like an angel," she said.

"Yes. With the soul of a damned," he turned to leave again.

"I doubt that. You saved me."

Why wouldn't this girl leave! He was aggravated. "Are you a younger sibling or an only

child? You sure know how to annoy someone. No wonder you're out on the streets."

"How did you know that?"

"It doesn't take sitting with you in your hovel dinning on a crust of bread while rats chew at my cloak

to figure that out," he mocked with a grin.

"What happened all there—" she started to cough a horrible cough. She placed a hand on her chest but the coughing

kept coming. She felt the world grow dark and felt herself fall.

--The Phantom quickly strode to her side, catching her. He heard the sound of the men still on

there search for the waif and hurried down to his lair. Walking down the stone tunnels he heard the

men talking at the entrance. "I'm not going down there! What if that Phantom is still down there?"

He smiled to himself.

At least his spirit would keep those he wanted at bay. Gently placing her in

the boat he pushed off, taking them to his home. Turning into a lit passage, he took time to look

over the girl. She was young, that was obvious, but her face held the lines of someone about twice

her age. She must have a hard life, he thought. She was beautiful, all things aside. The marks

barely were noticed at first glance.

She had long brown hair, and when he was talking to her he noticed her grey eyes. Like clouds before a storm, dark, but

with some light still holding. She was thin, that was obvious. The rags she dressed in hung loosely around her shoulders,

and hid any sign of her having hips. Docking at his own man made island in the lake, he lifted her into his arms

and placed her in his bed. She was still breathing heavily; he put his head to her chest. There was

a rasping, rumbling sound. Pneumonia. He sighed. He brought over a candle stand to provide

some sort of heat, and covered her with the black velvet blanket to keep the chill from getting to

her. He brushed a strand of hair from her face and stopped. This happened before. He cursed the

memory.

Christine Daa'e…How could he forget? Tried as he might, he would never forget what

she did to him. Left him alone when he needed company the most; left him in the dark when he

needed light. He shook away the memory. Things were different now. He learned to be lonely, and

he was doing quite fine according to him.

He went through one of the long broken mirrors, up a flight of stairs to the opera chapel. Pushing the stained glass

window open a crack, he whistled. A black raven called back and flew to his out stretched arm. He wrapped a red ribbon

around it's leg and sent it off.

--Sitting at his desk, he flicked at the singed corners of his self composed, Don Juan. Christine…

He slammed his fist onto the cover.

"Damn," he sat for a few more moments before getting up and pacing. Why now! He thought. For a long time now he

hadn't thought once of her, now this girl comes back and brings back everything he fought so hard to forget. Misery,

passion. Hell! Feeling! He looked back to check on the girl, when he heard someone coming down the steps. He heard

the voice say the secret word.

"Masquerade,"

"Hide your face so the world can never find you," he answered back.

"Madame Giry," he smiled, embracing his long time friend, and only friend.

"What is it that you want?" she asked. "I need a few solutions for pneumonia. I know peppermint oil can help open the

breathing passages, but after that, you're on your own," he smiled.

"I know what to get," she turned to leave.

"How's Meg?" he inquired. "She's good. She's engaged now, you know? He's a very nice man."

"Really? Who is he?"

"He's a trade marketer,"

"What's his name?" he could tell that she was avoiding the point.

"He's a close friend to someone you know. Well, knew," she didn't look directly at him. "Raoul," he knew. She gave a

short nod, then turned up the stairs.

--The smell of peppermint aroused her senses, waking her. She opened her eyes, still a bit

groggy, and saw the Phantom sitting beside her, dapping the oil on her chest and throat.

"Rest. You need to heal," he dabbed more ointment on the rag.

"What happened?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

Times like this made her seem like a child, but dabbing the oils on her throat and chest he had revealed proved her no

child. Her shirt was open in a most un-lady like manor, but she had no say in the matter if she wanted to heal and fast.

"You're so convenient," she smiled up at him.

"You save me and now you happen to have these oils on hand."

"I had to send for these,"

"Who do you have to call upon—"

"Must you always remind me that I am alone?" he stopped rubbing on the oils and glared at her.

"I'm sorry, it's just that," she was about to prove him right.

She winced at that and proceeded with caution. "I'm just curious, that's all. You can't blame me. You're a legendary icon,

but surrounded by street talk and tall tales. It would be nice to hear some facts true from the mouth of the

Phantom."

"Well for starters," he continued his work. "'Phantom' isn't my name, it's my title. My real

name is Erik," he thought about how his own name sounded so strange to him and that he hadn't

even reveled such to Christine.

"It's nice to meet you Erik," she held out her hand, "I'm Gwendolyn."

"An English name I see," he stated, returning the introduction. "Yes, my mother was English. She was vacationing in

France when she met my father and decided to stay. He left her one day for no apparent reason. I guess he was sick of

her," she furrowed her brows at the memory.

"Love is a foolish thing," Erik stated, putting the lid on the vile.

"Yet I still hope it exists," she looked at Erik, then gestured in an 'oh-well' manner.

"I gave up on love a long time ago," he got up and put his workings away.

"Yes, I figured as much. Christine..."

"Don't _ever_ mention that name to me," his cool blue eyes flashed like daggers.

"I'm sorry…I know how that can be—"

"No, you don't,"

"I'm just trying to—"

"Find out more about the 'infamous Phantom'. Yes I know. But maybe you can stop being so

nosey and go back to sleep. You're lucky I didn't kill you like I usually do with all those who come

into my opera house. Now rest, you need to heal." He knew his words stung by the look she gave

him before she turned her back and pretended to sleep.

"Listen, I'm sorry. It's just that…This isn't a situation I'm used to dealing with," she didn't answer. He knew she was still

awake. He grimaced at what he did. He did tend to frighten those he cared for, in more ways than one, off.

No more.

He vowed that from that moment on that he would do his best to be pleasant to be around. He walked

back over to the bed to apologize but found that she really had fallen asleep, but he found stilled

tears on her cheek. He gently wiped one off, and covered her back up. Pulling on the rope beside

it, a curtain fell to keep the light out. She looked like an angel…


	3. Chapter 3

3. ----Feeling much better, Gwendolyn took the time to explore about the opera house. She walked

out on stage, and took in the feeling of what it must have been like to be up there performing in

front of all those people and have them admire and adore you. Feeling like you belonged. She

smiled to herself.

Getting into character she straightened her shoulders and held her self up right and proper.

Just as she was about to begin, a light shot down on her.

"Are you going to entertain us?" His voice sounded more powerful with the echo from the ceiling.

"Perhaps," she smiled. "I don't know much, so I'll sing what I know."

"That makes sense," he jested. She gave a small laugh, then cleared her throat. "You messed me up monsieur," she

teased.

"I beg the Prima Donna's forgiveness then," she could see him mock a bow in the catwalk

above the seats. Clearing her thoughts, she pictured herself in front of a full house and Monsieur

Andre' looking out from the wings, and a scorning La Calotte'.

"_Think of me, think of me fondly, __when we've said good-bye_," she sang.

Erik watched down at her as she sang. He pictured that night when Christine had done that very same thing. As he

watched it wasn't Christine he saw, it was Gwendolyn in full. Though his mind wanted to place Christine there, he could

not. Instead he saw Gwendolyn in a totally different setting.

She was out on a marble balcony; her hair was pulled back at the sides into a loose band in the back. Her gown was a

pale yellow with a white border and underskirt. Her lips and cheeks had a touch of rouge to them and she was looking

into the double sets of French doors where a man stood. It was him. He watched and listened as she went on.

"_Think of me, think of me waking silent and resigned. Imagine me, trying to hard to put you _

_from my mind_." He kept staring. _Imagine me waking silent and resigned_, yes, that would be nice,

he thought, a devilish grin on his face. He would not let her put him from her mind though. He would

make sure that he would be there forever and always.

"Erik?" her voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes?" he answered, trying to compose himself.

"You were looking at me as if I were something with nothing to describe," she gave a small laugh.

"I was, but nothing without a description. That was amazing. You've had no prior lessons leading to this?"

"No. I was just born with this voice I guess," she blushed at the compliment. "I can work with you. I can help you," he

hurried along the scaffold and startled her when he suddenly came up behind her.

"How did you," she looked up at where he was then back to where he stood now. "Come with me," he took her hands in

his. She followed but a bit hesitant. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to teach you how to sing like a Prima Donna," he smiled at her then continued their decent back down to

his lair.

--"No! From your gut," he pressed on her stomach. "Well forgive me if I am just getting over being

sick with something that affected my _lungs_," she retorted. "Your lungs, not your gut," he retorted, smiling.

They had been working on her voice for almost two hours now, and both their patients

were wearing thin. "Why don't we take a break," he suggested standing up and running his hand

through his hair. "What?" he asked when he found her laughing. "Your hair," she giggled, pointing.

"What about it?" he was already annoyed and this was not helping.

She walked over to him and flattened a piece that was sticking up. He sucked in his breath at her touch. She pretended

not to notice, and withdrew her hand. "I suppose I should be going. I feel like I've worn out my welcome."

"Actually, you've earned it," he smiled. She laughed.

"Then I'll go out and find some food. Hopefully I won't get caught."

"You won't if you don't steal," he reached into a desk drawer.

"Whatdo you mean—"

He placed the money in her hand.

"I've never seen all that money in my life," she gaped at him. "Now you have. Take it and buy what you want."

--Walking around the market place she was still on the look out for the constables, but she found

herself cautiously walking towards the vendors. She eyed the people around her, seeing if anyone

was looking when she found what looked like to be a rich viscount assessing a jeweled necklace.

Then she remembered the francs in her pocket and stopped herself before it was too late.

"A pretty necklace for a pretty lady?" she heard the vendor address her. He winked and she, with

haste, moved on, with him laughing behind her.

Coming upon a bread stand she politely asked how much for a loaf. "Why do you want to know? You can't afford it," the

old man snarled, showing his snaggle tooth. "I'll have you know I can," she pulled some of the money out of her pocket

and he assisted her, but still kept an eye on her. "Merci monsieur," she nodded her parting and went

across the street to a _boulongerie patisserie_.

"Can I help you dearie?" a nice plump blonde woman asked. "Here, I think I have some pastries I can spare for you dear.

Just wait right there," she smiled and headed for the back of the shop. "Non Madame," Gwen spoke up. "I can pay. But

thank you very much for your kindness," she went to the glass display window and peered in at the

sweets. "I'll take two of those please," she pointed to a couple of raspberry filled Danishes.

The lady smiled and went to assist Gwen. Gwen paid and went to leave. "Girl," the woman folded a

piece of cloth over a few extra sweets and handed them to her. "Oh I really couldn't…"

"I insist," she gave her a warm sincere smile.

"Merci," she tucked the package in her pocket. Heading towards the butcher's shop she was stopped by a rough hand

on her shoulder. "There you are," it was the constable that chased her into the Opera House.

"Please, let me go."

"Thinking about stealing your next meal now?"

"No, I have money, really monsieur," she took it out of her pocket.

"Well what do we have here," he grabbed the money from her hand. "That would be enough to pay

tour way out of the stocks plus a little extra on the side," he pocketed it and held her back as she

went for it.

"Please! It's not my money!" his eyebrows rose in shock that she would admit such a

thing.

"Well it is, but…someone loaned it to me to buy food. I swear," she felt tears begin to rise.

"Well isn't that a sob story," he threw her hand back and laughed when she fell into the puddle at

her feet.

--Returning to the lair wet and cold, Erik came to her side. "I got us some bread, but that was

ruined. I also got some pastries, but I don't know how good they are. I ran into the bastard that was

after me earlier," she wiped some mud off of her face. "He threw me into a puddle and the bread

was ruined and I'm not sure about the pastries," he took them from her pocket.

The cloth was dripping wet as where the other pastries. She really began to cry now.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sick of this life," she buried her face in her knees, wrapping her arms around them.

"Now it's ok," he brushed back her hair. She shivered at his touch.

He quickly took his hand away, giving a silent oath. He never felt this way before. With Christine all he felt was a constant

aching lust. But with Gwen he wanted to hold, protect and love her the way she should be. There was no jealous lust with

Gwendolyn.

"Describe this man to me," he got up and went for his cloak. "He's somewhat tall, a

few more inches more then I. He has short brown hair and a mustache. His face is scarred

somewhat, but why? It's too late to do anything now. He's at home most likely and it's nearly dark,"

her eyes still shone with tears. "On the contrary," the cape swirled around him as he fastened it.

"It's the perfect time to act," he almost laughed.

"What are you going to do? Erik?" But he was gone.

--Going from rooftop to rooftop, he made his way through the darkness. He knew the captain of the

guard really well. It was the same man who almost shot him three years ago when he made his

escape from his own lair. Now was the perfect time to pay his revenge. He hurt two things that he

cared about more than anything, himself, and for some odd reason this girl.

Coming upon the man's house, he sat perched on the neighbor's windowsill, peaking in an upstairs window. Working

his 'magic' he unlatched the window and climbed in. Tiptoeing down the upstairs hall he found the

Madame of the house busy folding sheets and putting them away in the master bedroom. The

Madame continued to fold sheets when a hand covered her mouth and suppressed her scream of

surprise.

"Call your husband up here to take care of a rat and run out of the room. Now!" he gave

her a threatening shake, and uncovered her mouth. "Gaston!" she called down the hall and stairs.

She was debating wither to tell what was really happening or to go along with the lie and thought it

best to go with the discussed when she felt the Phantom's blade in her side.

"There's a rat!" With that he shoved her foreword and she fled down the hall. Erik took position on the other side of the

armoire and waited in ambush for Gaston to make his presence. "Where is it—" but before he

could identify anything that was occurring, the Phantom flew over the bed and shut and locked the

door.

"We meet again," the Phantom mocked.

"What do you want?"

"I believe you owe me some money," he held out his palm, his weapon, should the man refuse, concealed up his sleeve.

"What are you talking about?"

"You robbed a poor girl on the streets; you owe me the money you took,"

"She said someone loaned her the money,"

"And that couldn't be me?" he mocked.

"All right," he turned for his coat and reached into one on the pockets, but before he could do

anything, he found a knife to his throat.

"And leave the gun alone," he hissed. The man dropped the gun from his hand and reached further in and grabbed the

money he took earlier that day. "Here," he threw it at the Phantom. He pressed his blade further into his throat.

"Pick it up," he threw the man to the floor. "How do you like being thrown to the ground?" he mocked, avenging

Gwendolyn.

--"Erik! Where were you?" Gwen stood at his desk. "What did you do to him? You didn't…Did

you?"

"Hang him?" he laughed. "No. I didn't," he placed his money in the money drawer.

"What were you doing at my desk?" he eyed her suspiciously.

"Oh," she turned to look at the burnt copy of _Don Juan_. "I was reading through the play you wrote. I think it's amazing,

though a bit edgy, but what do us street people care? We're used to it," she laughed, but then bit her lip.

"What?" he asked. "Has anyone…any man I mean..." he was careful how to address such a situation. "Are you

upset over…"

"No, I'm…_fine_, thank you though," she gave him a half smile and turned back to the

broom she was using to clean the place a bit when he was gone. She always cleaned when she

was nervous, not matter how hopeless the case was.

"You need a bath," he noticed, taking in the state of her rags and hair. "You can go just behind that curtain there. The

water's heated there," he pointed to a dark crimson curtain just behind her.

"Thank you," she rested the broom against the wall and disappeared behind it.

--Making sure the curtain was secure she began to undress and stuck a foot into the water, testing

it. It was perfect. She missed the occasional hot baths a kind inn owner would sometimes offer.

She took her time walking into the pond of water, taking in the wonderfulness of it all. How she had

been saved by a masked man, fed by the masked man and now offered a hot bath by the masked

man.

The Phantom was nothing like man she heard and read about. He was kind, secretive, but

kind. Unable to stand any longer, she sank into the warmth of the water. Taking a deep breath, she

closed her eyes to enjoy the moment.

--Slowly he pealed back part of the curtain. She was slunk down in the water but he could still make

out her womanly shape. About every contour of her body was well defined. Shoulder, should

blades, and hips. Her ribs were somewhat bared from hunger but she hadn't been this hungry for

long. She was still beautiful. Slowly he crept into the room. Grabbing the soap on the ledge, he

slowly entered the water.

--Feeling a presence around her she turned and found herself face to face with Erik.

"What are you—"

"Turn around," she did as she was told but not before she noticed his eyes studying her

hungrily. She was perfect in everyway Erik discovered. Her breasts were full, her lips nice and lush,

but most of all he noticed was her eyes. They were an intense blue grey, the most amazing color

he had ever seen. He was familiar with eye colors on many different people, mainly his hanging

victims.

He brushed the soap down the back of her neck and across the width of her shoulder

blades, down her back and around her sides then onto her front. From there he crossed her

stomach and up and over her breasts without stopping, all the while with his head against hers

watching. Flinging the soap to the side he turned her towards him. Her eyes were wide with

excitement, but also a hidden fear. He would show her.

With a quieted passion now awakened he took her mouth with his. He felt her pulse quicken along with his and pressed

harder yet until she responded. Exploring her mouth with his tongue he brought her hands up and rested them on his

chest holding them. She felt his hardness pressing against her stomach and turned away.

"Look at me," he took her chin in his hand and stared in her eyes. He began another assault, this time she

responded with great intensity. Tracing down her neck with one hand he felt to her breast and

cupped it, and began to caress it. She moaned and leaned into him more but they were interrupted

by the sound of something splashing into the water in the next room over.

"Damn," Erik cursed. "Stay here," he looked her over but quickly turned away.

She brought her arms close into herself as cover and in embarrassment. What just happened? She thought to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

4. ----"Monsieur, I bid you welcome," Erik's tone was anything but welcoming. Gaston stood soak

and wet from head to toe in the middle of the Phantom's lake. "That's why I use a boat," Erik

mocked, grabbing his sword and rope. "Shall we?" Erik inquired, not really asking permission.

Gaston pulled out his gun, but not before Erik got his rope around it and flung it into the lake.

"I guess now you'll have to be a man and fight like one," he readied his sword. Letting out a cry of

rage, Gaston charged out of the water, sword drawn. "I'll see the end of you yet Phantom!" he

swung at him, but was easily diverted. "I already established an amount on your head Phantom! So

I'll be taking your money, plus more! Five hundred francs more!" He swung at his head, almost

hitting his mark. They fought on.

After a few moments Erik spoke, "I appear to be a greater challenge then you. Maybe you should have put a greater

bounty on my head. Maybe factoring in medical expenses," he gave a lash to his arm. Before Gaston could react he

found a rope around his neck.

"Maybe something for your funeral," Erik spat. He was about to pull the rope tight when

Gwen's pleading voice broke the moment. "Phantom, no!"

He looked her in the eyes. They were wide with horror. She stepped out of the bath, robed, just in time.

--Gwen couldn't believe what she was seeing. Those were the eyes just a few moments ago that

held nothing but passion and tenderness, now there were a valiant blue, as dark as a storm tossed

sea and angry. He looked down at his victim, then at Gwen. She still pleaded with him with her

eyes.

Frustrated he brought the hilt of his sword down on the back of his head. Gaston collapsed

in a heap on the ground.

"Why!" he demanded, striding over to her. "He dares challenge me, and

poses as a threat to you. Why?" he grabbed her by the wrists. She let out a cry of pain.

"You're hurting me," her words sinking in, he stormed off, disappearing behind one of the many broken

mirrors. Following him, she found herself behind the curtains. Not seeing him, she looked up into

the catwalk, and there she found him.

Carefully climbing up the side ladder she joined him. "I'm sorry," she said, taking a seat next to him. He noticed she was

still wearing just a robe, and turned away. "I really am," she repeated, sincere.

"It's not that," he still didn't turn to her.

She looked down and pulled the robe down more over her legs.

"They're legs," she said, slightly annoyed that he wouldn't say that he accepted her apology.

"I don't want to see you carted away and hanged," she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Erik," she made him face her. "I

love you," his voice was nothing more than a whispered sob. "What?" she looked him in the eyes.

"I love you," he repeated, placing a hand on her cheek and brushing it with his thumb. Her eyes filled with tears.

"I love you too," she smiled and kissed him. "Let's get rid of the trash before it wakes," he said, checking to see if they

were being watched.

--"_EXCLUSIVE! The Phantom of the Opera found ALIVE with a new victim!_" Erik laughed at the

headlines. "Would you call yourself a victim?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, showing

Gwen the headline. She wrapped the sheet around her and sat up to take a look. "It's nothing I

haven't seen before. Or last night for that matter," he gave her a devilish smile. She gave a _'ha-ha'_

smile and took the paper from him.

"I don't know," she teased. "You have a way with words. Maybe you put me under a spell? _Phantom,_" she laughed as he

tackled her. "Wait," she said, taking his head in her hands, she began to remove the infamous mask of the Phantom.

"Don't," he grabbed her hand away.

"No. It's ok," she smiled at him. He obeyed. When she removed the mask, he

instinctively turned his face from her. Gently she turned him towards her. "You're beautiful," she

whispered, looking deep into his eyes. He could have cried at her acceptance. He made love to

her all that night.

----No one knew what happened to the Phantom or his victim. The only gossip around was about a

new couple that had just married and moved into a well furnished townhouse on Rue 45 and the

master of the house planned to buy the burned down Opera House, with money he had

established in an artifact hunt in Egypt.

He was attacked by a wild boar on a safari he decided to take there, thus is why one side of his face in marred. His wife,

a very beautiful woman, was a professional opera singer and was to perform in her husband's shows as well as

auditioning others.

Madame Giry was to retake her place as the ballet instructor and part owner as well, if she

accepted. One day, a woman knocked on the door of that townhouse on Rue 45. The Monsieur

and Madame opened the door. "Come on in Madame," the master greeted. Madame Giry eyed

him with bland amusement.

"I recognize those eyes," she said, looking at him. "You don't have me fooled for one second Monsieur Erik," she

reached out and hugged him. "Hello Joanne," he greeted. Madame Giry looked at Gwen then back at Erik. "She's

different you know?"

"Exactly," Erick stated flatly.

Madame Giry smiled at both of them then took her leave.

Gwen hugged her husband. "_Love me. That's all I ask of you,_" she sang. He smiled and placed a kiss atop her head.


End file.
